


Suddenly you're mine (and it's brighter than sunshine)

by DreamsAreMyWords



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 7 minutes in heaven au, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clarklexa - Freeform, Clexa, F/F, Party, Party Games, Spin the Bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6886192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsAreMyWords/pseuds/DreamsAreMyWords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lexa was in elementary school, she was beat up on the playground by a certain blonde. Years later, in high school, she meets that blonde again...during a game of 7 Minutes in Heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suddenly you're mine (and it's brighter than sunshine)

**_September 22 nd, 1992_ **

**_11:52 pm_ **

****

“Let me see her,” she begs, panting against the arm she had slung up over her head in an effort to draw more breath into her lungs. She can’t breathe and some part of her understands why, but she can’t think about that because right now the one thing she wants more than anything she has ever wanted in her entire life is being briskly walked away from her. “Please, let me see her! Is she—“

Dr. Nyko leans toward her, his gaze heavy and steady as it bores into her panicked eyes. “Please remain calm, ma’am.”

Her brows contort in anger, her hands fisting the sheet. “Please just—“

“Theda, it’s going to be alright—“

“Indra,” she whines, half delirious under medication, exhaustion, pain. Her chest is aching and feels so tight. “Indy, _they won’t_ _let me see_ —“

“She’s alright! Look, ‘Heda, she’s alright.”

Heda opens the eyes she had been squeezing shut, the roiling exhaustion rising up her body like voluminous shadows intent on dragging her to sleep. She can’t sleep, though. Not yet.

Indra brings her to her, and if Heda’s gaze wasn’t zeroed in on what Indra cradled in her arms then she may have noticed the anguish creased in every line of Indra’s face.

“Oh, my baby. My beautiful baby,” Heda cooes as Indra gently places the baby on her lap. She is grateful, partly because her arms are too tired to lift anything but mostly because she is holding her baby for the first time. She quickly shifts a tired smile Indra’s way before focusing on the perfect little bundle before her.

“Hello Alexandria. It’s so nice to meet you.” She doesn’t realize she’s crying until she sees the tear that had rolled down the bridge of her nose fall directly between Alexandria’s eyes. “Oh, honey. You are so…” She thumbs away the droplet, smiles down at the baby blinking dark eyes up at her. “…So, _so_ beautiful, and I love you so much.” Heda and the baby gaze at one another for a moment, before Heda chuckles softly, the laughter cutting off in a gargled choke. “You look just like your daddy.” Heda’s head lolls and rolls on her shoulders to look over at Indra. “Indy, don’t you think she looks just like—“

“Heda, are you alright?” Indra urgently asks in a hushed voice. Now Heda notices, for the first time, that there are tear tracks on Indra’s face. But she is so tired, and her body just aches, and she feels as though there is something terribly important she is supposed to do.

It is with great difficulty that she turns her head to look back at Alexandria. She is vaguely aware that a beeping noise has filled the room, that Alexandria has began to cry, that there are doctors rushing in and out of her room. She feels as though she is stuck in a perpetual moment where she looks down at Alexandria and Alexandria looks up at her. Her pink cheeks are chubby and her pink bottom lip sticks out in a pout and her eyes are so big and dark they seem to swallow her face whole. She’s swaddled in Heda’s favorite red scarf and Heda can’t believe that this baby is hers, her most perfect contribution to the world.

“A…lexa…n…” She can taste the words, but they carry the weight of world just to push past her lips.

 _I love you_ , she thinks, but she is so tired.

 She just wants to rest her eyes for a moment, she decides, humming her gratitude when Indra lifts Alexandria off her lap. Just for a moment, and then…

 

//

 

**_September 23 rd, 1992_ **

**_12:01am_ **

In the room next door, a woman presses her lips to the soft forehead of the newborn bundled up in blue before her. She smiles at Jake, who was grinning ear to ear like a fool. Abby gives him a chaste kiss before Dr. Tsing returns to her side to quietly ask whether or not they had decided on a name.

Abby exchanges a smile with Jake before answering, “Her name is Clarke.” She watched the doctor point her pen and start to scribble. Abby’s eyes shine as she observes the way each individual letter joins together in faded blue ink to spell out Clarke Griffin, pressed into the paper right below the name Alexandria Woods.

           

//

****

**_August 17 th, 1997_ **

“Clarke, honey, your friends…might be a bad influence.”

Her mom’s voice is gentle, but even still, Clarke winces. She is five years old and in her second week of Kindergarten, and she’d already been in trouble twice. Her mom seems to think it’s because of Clarke’s new friends—Raven, and Octavia. Clarke doesn’t understand why her mom doesn’t like them. They’re funny, and nice, and pretty, and they have so much fun together.

"What?” she says, frowning up at her mother with her bottom lip pushed out in a pout.

 “A bad influence,” her mother repeats gently, crouching to be eye-level with Clarke. “You never used to do such naughty things until you became friends with them.”

“Naughty—“ Clarke begins in confusion, but she stops when it sinks into her. Raven is really into funny pranks, but now that Clarke thinks about it, they did seem kinda naughty. Coloring on the walls, hiding the other children’s school materials, going into the cubbies and switching around jackets. And Octavia always thought it was hilarious to blow raspberries when their teacher, Mrs. Cartwig, began scolding them.

Clarke’s eyes immediately wells up, her face warm and her stomach turning. She _is_ naughty. She _is_ a bad kid.

“You aren’t a bad kid,” her mother says sharply, and Clarke blinks; she hadn’t realized she’d wailed her thoughts aloud. “You’re a good kid that’s been doing a few bad things. That doesn’t make you a bad kid, honey. Everyone does it. It just means that you need to work hard to get better. Okay?”

She nods, sniffling. “Okay.”

“Maybe in the meantime, you can find some other people to spend time with at school.” As she says this, Abby’s eyes shifted to the side, pointedly glancing at a tiny girl with a wild mane of curly brown hair and big, baleful green eyes that seem even larger behind big round glasses. That’s Lexa, and according to Octavia, she is a _big nerd._

 Clarke’s eyes widen as she realizes what her mother means. Clarke doesn’t want new friends. She likes her friends.

 So she does what Raven and Octavia do to their teacher, multiple times a day. She lies.

 “Okay, mommy.”

 //

 

**_January 31 st, 2001_**

The color green slowly creeps across the crinkled blue construction paper in a crooked line. It stretches carefully until it reaches the other side of the page and disappears. The green crayon is set aside. A yellow crayon replaces it. It moves in a wavering circle, then adds several lines that extend out from it. The crayon slipps back into its place in the crayon box.

Lexa Woods lifts the drawing, squinting at it through round glasses that made her eyes two sizes too big. She peers at her drawing of the sun, and then gazes in dissatisfaction at the grass she'd colored in below it. She isn't very good at coloring. That’s why she uses crayons instead of colored pencils—she was even worse when she used colored pencils. All of her classmates say she’s a baby for using them, but she doesn’t care. They call her a baby anyway because she loves Harry Potter. She'd already read all four books out, and she can’t wait for the fifth to finally be published. The girl that sits next to her at her table, Clarke Griffin, said that the book wasn't going to come out because the person who wrote it died. Lexa didn't believe her, of course. Lexa’s teacher had told her Clarke was lying.

Lexa looks at Clarke out of the corners of her eyes, then gives up and turns her head because she can’t see below the frame of her glasses. Clarke was the only other kid in her class that used crayons, though that didn't make her any happier. Lexa looks with disdain at the tub of crayons Clarke had sitting beside her drawing of what seemed to be nothing but squiggles of color. The crayons are all broken and some have their paper peeled off them. Lexa shakes her head in disapproval. Clarke isn't good at taking care of her things. They've only been back in school for a month and she'd already lost her lunch money four times.

Clarke must have noticed Lexa’s gaze on her, or perhaps she'd seen Lexa shake her head. Clarke turns to look at her, pushing her stringy blonde hair out of her face. Her huge blue eyes narrow and her brow creases as though she is angry. Lexa feels a touch of fear—this girl always scared her, just a little, because she was so bold.

 "Stop looking at me," she whispers heatedly.

Lexa frowns, unsure whether she is embarrassed or hurt. "I wasn't."

"Yes you were." Clarke leans toward her. She smells like Crayola. "Hey, today you gotta share your lunch with me. I don't have any lunch money."

"No," says Lexa indignantly.

"Do it or I won't be your friend.”

"You're not my friend anyway. You call me names."

"So?"

"My dad says that if people call you names then they're not really your friends." Her dad also says that friends are a distraction Lexa couldn’t afford and because love is weakness. Her mother also enjoys regularly telling her she’ll never have any real friends anyway so why worry?

Lexa struggles, but she tries hard to maintain that mindset. To be the person she was born to be. Her parents say she was born to succeed, so that’s what she has to do.

Clarke leans back, her little pink lips puckering in a mocking pout. "You're just scared of me."

Lexa feels more fear and mortification rise inside her thin chest. "I am not! I have a cousin and I can beat him up, and you’re just a girl. I'm not scared of girls."

Clarke flares up at once. "Girls are just as scary as boys!" she says loudly.

Mrs. Vera, their teacher, looked up from her seat at the desk. Lexa notices and lowers her voice. "They are not. Boys are stronger and my cousin taught me how to fight."

Clarke takes the hint and lowers her voice, too. "Are not. I'll prove it. I'll beat you up."

Shock and horror had Lexa scooting her chair a couple of inches away from Clarke's. "No you won't. You'll get in trouble."

"Scaredy-cat," she says.

Lexa glares at her.

"Chicken," she offers instead.

 "I'm not a chicken, or a scaredy-cat!"

 "Yes huh. You won't even fight a girl."

 "I thought you said girls were just as scary as boys."

"They are. I'll show you."

 Aware that the boy sitting behind him, Quint, was listening to every word, Lexa swallows hard and set her jaw. "Fine."

 " 'Kay. We'll fight at recess, beside the swing set."

Lexa nods, feeling sick to her stomach. "Okay."

 She’s clammy for the rest of the day, her palms so sweaty she can barely hold her lunch tray. She can see Clarke glaring at her from across the cafeteria and Lexa half fears she’s going to stalk over to her and snatch it right out of her hands, but she doesn’t. After lunch was over...it’s time.

The walk to the swing sets feels like the walk to death itself. Lexa is going to die before she could even hit second grade and grow up.

Children are rushing past her, hurrying to the swing sets, chattering in excitement about the fight to come. Lexa wonders how they even found out. Maybe Clarke had spread the word, gloating about it.

 All too soon, Lexa is standing in front of Clarke, shaking.

They stare at each other for a moment. Then a look of determination morphs into being on Clarke's face. She bunches her hands into fists and stomps toward Lexa as the students surrounding them burst into eager shouts.

"Fight, fight, fight..." they all yell.

Lexa clenches her own bony fists, lifting them. Before she can even move, Clarke thrusts an arm toward her and punches her in the shoulder. Pain spiked all the way down Lexa’s arm while the shocked yells of the children fell muted, giving way to the sound of her own pounding heart. Lexa swings her own fist toward Clarke and misses, instead taking a clumsy step forward and stumbling. Clarke's hands land on Lexa’s back and shove her to the ground. Then Clarke was on top of her, hitting her and clawing her with her nails. Lexa even feels Clarke’s teeth sink into her forearm. Tears well in her eyes—tears of embarrassment, shame, anger. She writhes beneath her, screaming, and everything is chaos until Mr. Pike, the history teacher, is suddenly there, pulling Clarke off and barking orders. Another teacher lifts Lexa up into his arms and takes her to the nurse. Lexa cries for thirty minutes until her parents arrive to take her home, and then she cries even harder because she knows what Clarke just did to her is nothing compared to what her parents will do when they find out she had lost. Later that night, she asks her father if they can move to another town but he tells her no.

Ironically enough, Lexa moves the next year anyway. When DHS finally takes her away from her parents, she moves in with her aunt Indra. While Indra is stern and unyielding, she loves Lexa the way her parents never had. And for the first time in her life, Lexa feels hope.

The memory of Clarke fades with each passing year. When she reaches middle school, Lexa tries out for the soccer squad and gains a newfound sense of belonging with her team. Some of that pent-up anger she’d always had is finally worked through, though sometimes it lingers. Still, being able to sprint your heart out and knock people on their butts always helps as an outlet.

By the time she reaches high school, Clarke Griffin no longer even registers in her mind, and exists as nothing more than a memory of a bully from kindergarten.

**_//_ **

**_November 6 th, 2007_**

**_6:48 pm_ **

 Lexa tugs at the loose threads poking out from her sweater hem as she stares haughtily at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She looks like a buffoon, and she’s most likely going to make a fool out of herself.

This entire idea is stupid, and she knows that, she does. But the curtains are still drawn back on her bedroom window and every time she stands near she can’t resist peering through the glass at the white and blue house that stands just beyond the white fence. The window directly across from hers was usually open, so usually she can see the beautiful dark-skinned girl who would wave and smile back at her before gesturing for her to come over. Now, though, the other window is closed and the shutters are drawn. And Costia will no longer speak to her.

Lexa pushes the thoughts out of her mind, sighs and turns her back to the mirror, tugging her sweater over her head. Costia’s brother, Artigas, had invited her to a party. Lexa never parties; she doesn’t drink, she doesn’t socialize, and she certainly doesn’t spend her time at strange houses full of drunken teenagers. She always has more important things to do, like study for her exams and help her aunt manage the shop. But today Costia snuck into Lexa’s home and left a letter tucked up beneath her pillow that explained why she no longer wanted to see Lexa, so when Artigas passed by Lexa in the hallway at school and jokingly told her he’d see her at the party, Lexa stopped him and asked him when and where it was. He had been surprised, but he told her, and seemed pleased when she said she’d be there. So now here she is. Rethinking her entire plan of acting out and drowning her sorrows, all because she is just now realizing that she owns absolutely no casual clothes.

There is only one option left: she will have to steal something out of her sister’s closet. Anya will be furious, _if_ she catches her. Fortunately, over the past few months, Lexa had grown very good at sneaking around.

She ends up deciding on a black halter top and a leather jacket over jeans and boots, and thinks that she may look like a greaser and that Grease is one of Costia’s favorite movies and Lexa hates herself all over again.

 

//

**_8:27 pm_ **

           

Lexa drums her fingers nervously over her knees as she sits in her brother Lincoln’s car. There are more people in the car, since Lincoln apparently offered to carpool and is the DD tonight. They’re all chatting animatedly. A few people have snuck glances at Lexa; she can feel curious gazes on her, but she ignores them and resolutely stares out the window at the blur of shrubbery they drive past instead.

“Ask her!”

“Shh, no, you ask her!”

Lexa grits her teeth, feeling a muscle in her jaw throb. _Don’t talk to me,_ she thinks, but she knows the two boys sitting directly in the seats behind her are about to speak. Oh well. The whole point of coming out here tonight was to do crazy things, right? Lexa swallows and steels herself for the conversation.

 “Hi there.” A boy with a wide, lazy grin and bright, excited eyes leans forward to pop his head around Lexa’s seat. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. I find that hard to believe considering how B-A-utiful you are. I’m Jasper,” he adds, sticking out a hand for her to shake. “And that’s Monty.” The boy sitting back beside him was snickering, but he waves.

“Lexa,” she says, and quickly drags her gaze over him for something, _anything_ to say. “…Nice goggles.”

Jasper throws an almost smug expression over his shoulder at his friend, his chest puffing out as he aims his broad smile back at Lexa. “Thanks. Hey, listen, do you want to hang out with us at the party? We’re pretty cool guys. Probably the coolest.”

Lexa’s lips quirk at that. She thinks he’s being sarcastic, but even if he believes what he says, it’s still amusing. Before she can answer, Jasper speaks again.

“Do you go to Ark? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

Lexa shakes her head. “I go to Tondc." Then she forces a polite smile, not quite sure what she’s expected to say now. Jasper starts to speak up again, but at that moment they pull into the drive of a huge house with music booming loud enough that they can hear it from inside the car.

“Clarke always throws the best parties,” Jasper breathes in appreciation. Lexa looks up at the house, nerves twisting in her belly because she is not one to party and maybe this was a stupid idea. The only time she’s ever drank was when Costia snatched a half-finished bottle of beer out of her father’s fridge and the two of them shared it over giggles and flushed faces in the backyard.

The thought of Costia sends another spike of pain through her heart, so Lexa opens the car door.

// 

****

**_9:21pm_ **

 

Lexa is only on her first drink but is already stumbling as she pushes her way past throngs of chatting people all clutching plastic red cups in their hands. She brings her own drink to her lips as she casts her gaze around the room, taking it all in— the kids who are sitting in a huge circle with a glass bottle swiveling around in the center of them.

There is no way that under normal circumstances Lexa would do this, but she’s been drinking and she’s in love with a girl that won’t even look at her and she thinks maybe she wants this (the party life, the life Anya and Indra always warned her against).

Lexa manages to catch Lincoln’s eye and he grins broadly, gesturing for her to approach, so she teeters over and takes a seat on the spot on the floor next to him after an Asian boy she thinks she has met before scoots over to make room for her.

“The tongue!” screams a boy wearing goggles who Lexa thinks looks _really_ familiar, who sits on the other side of the Asian boy. “Give her the tongue!” _Jasper and Monty,_ she remembers with a jolt.

Lexa follows his gaze to see a boy with black hair leaning into the center of the circle, a red-headed girl’s—Lexa is fairly certain her name is Fox and she’s in Lexa’s Algebra class—face cupped in his hands. They are kissing deeply, and one of the boy’s hands sweeps through Fox’s hair and it reminds Lexa of Cos—

 _Don’t even think her name,_ Lexa thinks furiously. She squeezes her eyes shut as she brings her cup to her mouth and tips cheap beer down her throat. _She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ loved it when Lexa ran her hands through her hair.

“Alright, alright, we’ve been playing this for like, twenty minutes,” complains a girl with dark hair whom Lexa recognizes as the girl Lincoln has been shamelessly staring at for the entire party. “Get off her, Bellamy. Let’s do something else!”

 “Naked twister?” The boy in goggles smirks at his own suggestion.

“Uh, no,” is the general consensus that most the rest of the circle replies with.

“Seven Minutes in Heaven?” suggests one boy as he sweeps his long hair out of his eyes and casts a shifty glance toward a blonde girl that sits almost directly across from him.

“Yeah!”

While the rest of the kids begin excitedly chatting and rustling around for hats or paper or something, Lexa downs the rest of her drink and considers whether it would be wise to go get another when her stomach is churning the way it is. She swears she is seeing cartoon birds flying around her head, or stars, perhaps, and reasons what does it even matter, anyway.

Lexa blinks the stars out of her eyes, speculating what Costia ( _damn it, don’t think her name)_ would say if she knew Lexa is here right now. Lexa’s sister Anya would most certainly be angry, as would Lexa’s aunt. The thought of disappointing her loved ones is just another punch to her gut, so Lexa is considering getting up and leaving when a hat is suddenly pushed into her lap.

“What?” she asks, wide eyes settling on Lincoln, ignoring the way the word slurs slightly.

 “Write your name!” he says quickly, smiling as he passes her a notebook and a pen.

Lexa writes her name perhaps more sloppily than she has ever written anything in her life, tears the paper off, folds it as carefully as she can with clumsy fingers, drops it into the hat and then passes it all to the boy beside her.

Minutes later, the tall boy with black hair—Bellamy, that other girl had called him—is standing in the center of the circle. “Alright, here are the rules. Your name’s called, you have to do it. Seven minutes. In there.” Lexa follows the direction he’s pointing and sees the closet situated a few feet behind her.

 “If you chicken out and don’t do it, or you come out before your seven minutes are up, you have to face your punishment.” At the cheers and jeers that meet that statement, Bellamy smirked and held up a hand to silence them. “And the punishment is…you have to run out into the snow. _In your underwear_.”

Raucous laughter erupts from the circle of kids. Lexa realizes why she doesn’t party. Kids are _annoying._

“Here we go. And it’s your party, so you should draw the names.” Bellamy offers the hat to the blonde girl, who fishes around within it for a moment before drawing two pieces of paper out. She opens the first and calls, “Lincoln.” A few people looked toward him, teasing and cheering. The blonde unfolds the next piece and smirks, looking up and over her shoulder at the brunette beside her. “And Octavia.”

Lexa didn’t miss the way the brunette, Octavia, casts an appreciative glance at Lincoln, obviously pleased with who she was about to spend the next seven minutes kissing. The crowd of kids all cheered and jeered as Octavia rises to her feet, crosses the circle to take Lincoln’s hand, and leads him to the closet without a word.

“The timer starts when the door closes,” says Bellamy, who for some reason seems to be glaring at the backs of Octavia and Lincoln as they disappear into the closet. When the door closes, he aggressively punches a finger on his phone screen to start the timer.

Most of the circle moves toward the closet, a few even pressing their ears against the door to listen. Lexa stays where she is, wondering if the room is swaying or if it’s just her. The blonde girl and Bellamy also stay where they are.

“Don’t you cut it short, Bell,” warns the blonde. Bellamy ignores her. Lexa frowns, staring perhaps a moment too long at her. She looks very familiar too. The girl’s eyes shift, perhaps sensing Lexa’s gaze on her; Lexa’s heart seems to skip under an admittedly very pretty blue gaze. She looks away, blushing, and is careful not to look back, because she can still feel the girl’s eyes on her.

It certainly doesn’t feel as though a full seven minutes have passed when Bellamy barks the order to open the door. Octavia bounces out with a hard smirk on her face, flipping her hair behind her shoulders before she sinks down onto her space on the floor. Lexa’s brother follows at an easier pace, ambling out of the closet with bright pink cheeks and a broad smile.

Bellamy glares at Octavia and completely ignores Lincoln before reaching into the hat again.

“We need to be more drunk for this game,” says Bellamy, and it’s chaos from there.

           

// 

**_1:50am_ **

 

_“Get out, right now, it’s the end of you and me! It’s too late and I can’t wait for you to be gone, ‘cause I know about her and I wonder how I bought all the lies, you said that you could treat me right but you were just a waste of time—“_

“I fucking swear, if I hear that song one more time!”

Octavia just cackles, pointing at Raven as she sways where she stands to sing even louder. Clarke chuckles to herself, watching them over the rim of her red cup. Her friends are morons, but they’re her morons.

“Come on, Ray, this is like your anthem! About Finn! And yours too, Clarke,” she added, winking at Clarke.

Clarke rolls her eyes and takes another drink, but she has to admit Octavia’s got a point. Finn had cheated on her with Raven, yet he here he was tonight, still trying to get back together with her.

 “If you’re going to sing, at least make it Backstreet Boys. Jesus.”

“Hey,” came a gruff voice. They all turn to see Bellamy popping his head out from behind the door. “We’re starting the game up again.”

Raven and Octavia both whoop, moving toward the door, but Clarke sighs, hesitating. In all honestly, she hadn’t even planned to come out tonight, let alone play drinking games.

 “Clarke, come on,” insists Octavia, she and Raven wheeling back around to loop arms through Clarke’s and steer her toward the living room. “What better way to get over Finn then to have a nice, healthy make out sesh?”

 “Alright, alright,” she sighs again. Again, Octavia has a point. Clarke does like kissing people, and she certainly wants to get over Finn.

Hardly ten minutes later, when Miller and some new kid named Bryan stumble out of the closet with huge grins on their faces, Bellamy sticks his hand in the hat to draw new names out. Clarke arches a brow when Bellamy looks down to grin at her.

“Clarke.” He rummages around for another second, finally pulling out another folded slip of paper. “And…Lexa.”

That name…

 “Who is that?” Raven’s whisper carries around the room.

On the other side of the circle, many kids’ faces are directed at one person. That girl. The girl that had been staring at Clarke earlier, who Clarke couldn’t resist staring back at. She was gorgeous, with long chestnut hair decorated in braids and a jawline to die for. She seems vaguely familiar, but Clarke can’t think where she’s seen her before.

Regardless, a flutter of nerves tingle in Clarke’s belly as she stands up, holding Lexa’s gaze, smiling pleasantly, and ignoring the wolf whistles of the people around her.

Lexa doesn’t return the smile; she looks nervous. Clarke makes a mental note to make sure this experience will be one the girl will remember. Clarke wants this, wants to fall into a kiss with a stranger and forget Finn’s name.

She’ll have to make it worth it.

           

**_//_ **

****

**_2:03am_ **

****

In the dimness of the closet, Lexa extends her hand, hoping if she took the initiative, the girl wouldn’t notice how it trembled. “My name is Lexa.”

The other girl’s hand isn’t trembling, Lexa notices. She also notices that the girl has a pretty smile. A very pretty smile, but Lexa tried not to think about that. “Hi. I’m Clarke.” They shake hands. “I guess we should start now.”

“I suppose we should.” But she makes no movement, so after a beat, Clarke reaches up without warning and grips the chain hanging from the sole light bulb in the closet. She pulls and they are enveloped in darkness.

Lexa waits, unnerved. She has only ever kissed one person, and it had only been a handful of times.

When nothing happens for a moment, she thinks that maybe this girl is as shy as Lexa is feeling, and she slowly exhales a shaky breath of relief, about to say that it’s okay, they can just do nothing and if the girl is embarrassed, Lexa can always lie and say they did, because if the girl is unwilling then there’s no reason to—

Suddenly Clarke is before her, hands are gently cupping Lexa’s cheeks, and Lexa swears she feels her heart vibrating as Clarke softly trails her fingertips along Lexa’s jawline. Her nose brushes gently across Lexa’s, her breath a soft warm puff on Lexa’s. Lexa has a split moment to think _this girl really knows what she’s doing_ before Clarke’s hands slip into her hair, and Lexa knows that whatever is about to happen (which, considering the entire reason they’re in this closet is for a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, Lexa is pretty certain what it is), it’s going to be something she _really_ likes.

 

//

    

**_2:07am._ **

           

It begins with a kiss. Of course it does.

They’re a little tipsy and Lexa is blushing furiously, but Clarke’s hands are wound in her hair and she’s using her forearms on her shoulders to guide her back against the wall. There’s a quiet thump as her back presses sharply against the wooden frame and Lexa thinks she can hear cheers and laughter from the other side of the door, but the embarrassment leaves as quickly as it comes when Clarke presses her lips to Lexa’s and— _oh_.

She isn’t Costia. Her lips are not as full, her body smaller, her skin pale and her hair blonde. Lexa can’t remember what color her eyes were, but she is certain they are not the deep, dark, warm brown of Costia’s. Costia always smells like cookies and flowers, and this girl smells like alcohol and expensive perfume. Costia kisses Lexa so gentle, as though her lips may be the thing that unravel Lexa’s very soul. Clarke gives Lexa no room to breathe, and though her lips are gentle against hers, there is something there, something more that Lexa can’t pinpoint exactly, but it is different than what she has experienced before. This girl is not Costia and there is no mistaking that.

But Lexa can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t remember her own name, because stars are blinking in her head and her heart is thrumming in her chest and her stomach is turning and this girl’s lips are so _soft_ against hers, and maybe she isn’t quite as sober as she thinks, maybe she is even gayer than she knew, or maybe this girl is simply an exceptional kisser. The only thing that Lexa _can_ dimly comprehend is that these seven minutes may actually pass by too quickly.

After a few seconds of kissing, Clarke leans back a little, her eyes (blue, so, so blue) glazed as she murmurs, “ _Oh_ ,” before leaning in and capturing Lexa’s lips again.

Something about the slow, gentle rhythm in which their lips move together sets a slow, deep ache inside Lexa’s heart. It only takes a few seconds for Lexa to part her lips and invite this stranger’s tongue into her mouth, and only takes a few seconds more for a heat to press insistently at her stomach, her heart, and creep toward the apex of her thighs.

Lexa feels the hum Clarke makes before she hears it. She realizes her own hands have risen up to bury themselves in Clarke’s hair only after it’s already knotted around her fingers. She doesn’t notice she hasn’t been breathing until she is suddenly pulling her lips away to gasp for air, and Clarke’s head turns, her nose pressing into Lexa’s cheek as she trails her lips along Lexa’s jawline.

Lexa has never played Seven Minutes in Heaven before at a party, nor has she ever thought about it, but if she were to envisage it, she never imagined it to be like this. She would have thought it would be awkward, with two inexperienced teenagers running out of things to do and ready to leave after a few hastily exchanged, sloppy kisses. This—Clarke trailing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of Lexa’s neck as though licking flame into Lexa’s skin—this is…nothing Lexa would ever have expected, and nothing she will ever be able to explain. She feels an ache low in her stomach and she knows what that means. The first time she touched herself late at night to memories of Costia sweetly pressing her lips against hers, Lexa did so in surrender to this same low ache.

Clarke sucks Lexa’s bottom lip into her mouth and uses her tongue to sooth the wounds it inflicts. Another moment and Lexa’s hands are trailing down Clarke’s body, halting to linger at the small of her back because Lexa feels weird about the fact that she wants to put her hands on this stranger’s ass, and she has never touched anyone like that, though she often thinks about it with Costia.

Clarke releases her grip on Lexa’s hair and trails her own hands down Lexa’s body. Fire seems to press into the center of Lexa’s stomach when Clarke curves her hands over Lexa’s ass, squeezes. Lexa hesitates before she moves her hands down to do the same.

Clarke pulls back and Lexa’s lips feel so cold without the warmth and pressure that she actually whines. She can make out Clarke’s eyes blinking at her, dazed and glossy and full of heat, by the light leaking in through the spaces around the closet door.

“Who _are_ you?” asks Clarke. Lexa can’t decide whether Clarke sounds dazed like she’d been hit over the head with something hard, or accusatory, as though Lexa had lied to her about something.

“Lexa,” she huffs in response, too aroused to be bristled at the fact that Clarke has already forgotten her name.

“ _Lexa,”_ says Clarke slowly, rolling the word around on her tongue as though tasting it. Lexa bites her lip so she won’t whine again, both at the way her name was being husked out of Clarke’s pretty pink lips and because she wanted her tongue back on her own. “Are you—do you go to Arkadia High School?”

Lexa shakes her head, ignoring the way the alcohol churned in her stomach in response to the movement. “No, I go to Tondc.”

Clarke blinks in surprise. “Oh, I didn’t…”

Tondc is the “poor” school. Everyone knows it, and well, Lexa doesn’t mind because she _understands_. Her aunt does not make much money out of her shop, Anya is about to graduate and leave for college, and Lexa is too young to get a job that pays well.

Suddenly feeling cold, Lexa drops her hands and takes a step back. Clarke’s eyes widen, made almost comical combined with the flush of her cheeks from the alcohol and the kissing. “No, I don’t—it’s not a bad thing, I just—I feel like I know you. Like I’ve seen you around in the hallways or something, between classes.”

Lexa’s brow furrowed. “You seem familiar too,” she said slowly. There was some thick, insistent pressing curling somewhere in the back of her mind, struggling to claw its way to the forefront. “But I’m rarely ever on this side of town. I used to live up north, but not for years—“

“Wait, you lived up north?” interrupts Clarke. “Where? Wait a minute. Lexa. _Lexa.”_ Clarke’s eyes widened even more. “Did you go to—“

“Polaris Elementary School,” Lexa finishes for her, the awestruck note layering her tone. This was _not_ conceivable. This couldn’t possibly be the same Clarke…there was no way. “Um.” She cleared her throat, shifting her weight. “Are you…your name isn’t…Griffin, is it? Clarke Griffin?”

“Lexa Woods,” says Clarke in awe.

“Oh my God,” they both say at once.

           

//

 

**_2:22am_ **

Rap rap rap.

 “Hey, you’ve been in there for like, ages! What are you doing?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, putting a finger before her lips to Lexa and then smacking the door a couple times. She gives a loud moan, and the knocking abruptly stops.

“Oh, shit, they’re still busy!” A chorus of guffaws and sound of impression echo outside the door, and whoever stands outside it shuffles away.

"Sorry,” whispers Clarke, smiling at Lexa in the dim light that illuminated the closet from the space between the door and the floor. “Octavia’s just as annoying sober, if that makes a difference.”

Lexa smiles back.

They’ve been sitting together on the floor talking since the moment they realized who they were.

“I’m sorry for bullying you,” murmurs Clarke, reaching out to stroke her fingertips across Lexa’s arm. It was meant to be comforting, but Lexa can still remember the feel of her lips, so it makes her shiver. “It wasn’t you, you know. It was just me. I was a dumb kid, and spoiled, and my dad had cancer. I know it’s not an excuse, but, just know it wasn’t you personally. I took out my frustration on whoever I could, and it wasn’t right.”

“It’s okay,” says Lexa softly. “I mean, not okay that you picked on me, but, we were kids. It’s not something that I’m emotionally scarred from, or whatever.”

 “But I made you move.” Clarke sounds sad, and guilty above everything else.

Lexa’s stomach hurts, but for some reason, hiding away in this closet with alcohol buzzing in her veins, she feels braver than usual.

 “It wasn’t you. My parents…um, they were the bullies.”

Clarke’s eyes are wide, attentive, taking in every word. She watches Lexa patiently, waiting for her to continue. Lexa takes in a deep breath.

“They weren’t my real parents. I was raised by my aunt Nia and her husband Titus. They were both just…crazy. They never made me feel good enough, they were obsessed with how I made them look, they wanted me to be perfect and when I wasn’t, I guess they thought physical punishment would beat it into me.” Clarke reaches over to take Lexa’s hand now, and Lexa swallows, flipping her hand over and squeezing Clarke’s hand back. “Social services got involved when I went to the doctor for the flu and they saw the bruises all over me. DHS took me away and I was in foster care for a few weeks, until they cleared my aunt to take me in. I’ve been raised by my aunt Indra, and she’s more of a mom to me, but it’s weird calling her mom too, so…I guess I just don’t have any parents at all. I consider Anya and Lincoln to be my siblings, but technically they’re my cousins.”

“What happened to your real parents?” asks Clarke.

“I never knew my biological dad, he left. Didn’t want anything to do with his kid, I guess. I don’t even know his name. My mom, her name was Theda,” adds Lexa, bowing her head. “It’s old German. It means ‘people.’ She died right after I was born. Just complications with the delivery.”

To Lexa’s surprise, Clarke crawls forward, shifting around to rest her head on Lexa’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

They are quiet for a moment, until Lexa eventually whispers, “What happened…I mean, is your dad…”

 “He’s dead.”

 “Oh. I’m sorry.”

 “It’s okay. He died when I was in middle school. It calmed me down, a little, because I’d been getting in trouble a lot. I felt really bad about it for a long time after. Like, he died with me always in trouble, not being as good of a daughter as I could have been…”

“He still died loving you,” offers Lexa.

Clarke sniffles, nodding, but to her credit, she doesn’t cry.

"So…” she says after a long moment, sniffling once more. “Um. What made you come here? I mean.” She laughs quietly. “Why are you at my house, I guess?”

"Artigas. He’s my neighbor.”

“Oh,” says Clarke in surprise. “So you know Costia, too.”

Lexa coughs, choking; she hadn’t expected to hear that name so suddenly.

“Yeah, um…actually…she’s the real reason I came.”

“What do you mean?” says Clarke curiously.

Lexa swallows. How ironic that she feels so brave now, in a closet.

“Okay. Um, so…I’m gay. I mean, I’m a lesbian.”

Clarke is silent for so long that Lexa fears she’s about to storm out in disgust, which is ridiculous considering the heavy make-out they’d just had not long ago. “Okay,” says Clarke, sounding puzzled. “And?”

 “It’s…I mean…” Lexa falters, off balance because this was always a big deal to her, but Clarke doesn’t seem at all fazed.

 “I’m bisexual,” says Clarke. “Octavia’s pansexual. Wells is demisexual.” She shrugs. “I don’t know how it is in Tondc, but sexuality isn’t a big thing here.”

 “Oh. Well.” Lexa swallows again. “It is a big deal at Tondc. Costia and I…”

“You were together,” realizes Clarke.

Lexa nods. “Yeah, but her parents are really against it, so she told me she couldn’t be with me.”

 Clarke sighs. “I’m sorry, Lexa. That sucks. I just broke up with my boyfriend, if that makes you feel any better. He cheated on me.”

“What an asshole.”

"Yeah. I really liked him. I thought I loved him,” she confesses.

"I thought I loved Costia," Lexa admits.

They both sit there for a long moment, Clarke’s head still resting against Lexa’s shoulder, both of them reclining against the wall. They can still hear their friends outside in the living room, laughing and talking loudly. In the muted quiet of the closet, Lexa swears she can hear both of their hearts beating.

She wants to kiss her again, but she doesn’t know how. Should she just _ask?_ What are you supposed to do in situations like this?

"Hey,” says Clarke quietly, lifting her head. Their faces are fairly close together, and Lexa can see the blue of her eyes, luminous even in the shadows. “We should probably get back out there. We’ve been in here for a while.”

Lexa nods numbly; her tongue feels too big in her mouth, and she doesn’t know how to ask—

“But first,” says Clarke, scooting even closer, so close that their noses are brushing together. Lexa’s eyes flutter shut, anticipating the kiss, but it doesn’t come. “Do you, um, want to hang out sometime?”

Lexa’s eyes fly open. “Hang out?” she says in surprise.

"Yeah. I mean—God, that sounds like we’re in elementary school again,” she says with a laugh. “I mean like a date. Do you want to hang out with me in a date setting? I mean. Ugh, hang on, let me start over.” Clarke sits up straighter, looking into Lexa’s eyes with determination in her own. “Do you want to have dinner with me sometime? We could go see a movie, too.”

Lexa stares at her for a long moment, before she says seriously, “Okay. But can I kiss you again first?”

Clarke smiles. “Aren't we doing this kinda out of order?”

“I think we’re both kind of out of order,” says Lexa, before inclining her head to press her lips to Clarke’s.

 

//  
          

**2:38am**

 

Clarke and Lexa both leave the closet hand in hand, smiling sheepishly amidst all the cheers and catcalls from Clarke’s friends.

The next morning, Lexa wakes with a fuzzy head, but wonderful memories of a beautiful blonde, warm lips, and a cozy closest. It isn’t until she’s eating breakfast and her phone vibrates that she remembers. The grin splits across her face the moment she swipes it open and reads the text message from Clarke.

 “What are you smiling about?” asks Indra.

Lexa looks up at her, smiling back as she brings a forkful of pancakes to her lips. “A girl.”

“Oh.” Indra raises a brow. “Am I going to get to meet this girl?”

Lexa shrugs, unable to hide her grin. “Maybe one day.”

 

 

**Clarke Griffin           11:02am**

**Hey Lexa :)**

**How do you feel about dinner tonight at Polis Cafe? Around 6ish?**

**Lexa Woods              11:03am**

**I’ll meet you there.**

**Just don't beat me**

**up this time ;)**

**Clarke Griffin           11:05am**

**No promises ;)**         

           


End file.
